


Day 3: Board

by blackstar



Series: 30 day writing challenge [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, M/M, POV Derek, because how could they not, weird wooing methods, yea basically just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’s that? Who’s dying?”<br/>“We are!” Stiles almost yelled again, with the same chipper voice as before, turning to drag his object even further into the loft.<br/>“What.”<br/>“Uh, that is, unless we do something. Like I said – Do or Die time!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 3: Board

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3, hell yeah!

Derek woke up one morning to the insistent knocking on his front door. The noise jolted him awake and into awareness even before he was ready to and by the time he was sliding the loft door open, his head was spinning. On the other end was Stiles, all smiles and energy, as if it was not just after sunrise.

“Good morning, sunshine!” he chipped, walking in uninvited, hauling a packaged rectangle-shaped thing the size of himself behind him. Derek felt completely befuddled by the whole ordeal, the shock of the rude awakening still lingering in the way his head was throbbing with each movement. He knew he’d be okay in a minute but that didn’t stop him from scowling, mashing his eyebrows together in what his sleepy brain hoped was a menacing look.

“What. Are you doing?” he asked, punctuating his disapproval with a sharp nod towards the unidentified object in his living space. “Do you know what time it is, Stiles?”

“It’s Do or Die time!” Stiles exclaimed, energetically. Derek wanted to punch him in the face. The face, which was now splitting into a huge, shit-eating grin, which effectively stomped over Derek’s awful mood and made it a bit better. He tried to keep the menacing expression, though, for effect.

“What’s that? Who’s dying?”

“We are!” Stiles almost yelled again, with the same chipper voice as before, turning to drag his object even further into the loft.

“What.”

“Uh, that is, unless we do something. Like I said – Do or Die time! Doing now. Care to give one of those muscular werewolf hands and help the scrawny human lift this heavy board?”

“Board?” Derek asked, while he was approaching Stiles, tugging up the sleeves of his sleeping shirt up. He tried to keep all of his responses to single words or simple sentences around Stiles, to keep the more annoying comments (“Look at that, long sentences!”, “Wow, Derek, that’s the longest thing you’ve ever said to me in one go!”, “Did you just use a dependent clause in that sentence, Derek? Wow!”) at bay.

“Yea, so we can work on it together. If you just… yeah, over there, we can put it next to the window.” He said while they were picking up the still packaged board up “You don’t use that, do you? You have plenty of windows, you’ll manage without this one.” He added before giving Derek the opportunity to response. They maneuvered it over to the window sill, and managed to keep it upright even though Derek voiced his opinion that it’d be better if they got rid of the wrapping paper first. He wanted to see if there had been any new developments on Stiles’ board, he remembered it from his room, how he’d tried to piece together everything with the Nogitsune on it a mere couple of months ago. He didn’t push though.

The both of them took a step back, hands outstretched, ready to grab the board if it decided to fall over, but it stood. Derek turned to Stiles.

“Now what?” Stiles turned to him and smiled again, this time not as fanatically.

“Thanks for that. I have some other stuff to do before I come back. I’ll show you later.” Stiles flashed him another, brighter smile and patted him on the shoulder before leaving, almost running out of the loft.

Derek was left confused, looking back and forth between the board and the door, feeling left out. After a minute, he gave up, shrugged and got back to bed, trying to fall asleep again.

\---

He hated the ringtone of his new phone. It was the worst melody to wake up to, and considering this was the second time this morning someone was waking him, things weren’t looking good for Derek’s day. He grumbled a low, throaty

“Hello?” in his phone, without looking at the screen first; without opening his eyes, even.

“Sexy, I have to admit.” Came from the other line. Stiles. “Wanted to ask, chocolate or vanilla? Or strawberries maybe? With you, I can’t tell. If I was betting against Scott, I’d say you were a chocolate guy, am I wrong or am I right?”

“Right.”

“YES!” Derek could picture Stiles fist-pumping the air as he yelled, happy and exhilarated. He couldn’t help but smile, while he was floating to the surface of awakening. “You haven’t opened the.. uh… board, have you?”

“No, Stiles, I’ve been sleeping.”

“Sleeping? Derek, it’s almost 10 o’clock.”

“So?”

“People are gonna… You know what, never mind. Are you still sleepy? Want me to wake you up?”

“Stiles, what’s happening?” Derek was starting to get worried. There was an urgency in Stiles’ voice, which was starting to pick up. “Is something happening that I should know about?”

“Look at those long sentences you got, big guy!” Stiles laughed on the other side of the line, completely ignoring his questions. “Don’t you worry, sour wolf, and I’m gonna tell you a little wake-up story.” And so Stiles continued to obviously go around on errands, saying “thank you”s and “this one please”s and “if you could just bag it for me”s, being polite to strangers all while telling Derek this ridiculously long wake-up story of a small brown wolf, who had met his mate and was running through the woods in a frenzy, trying to find the perfect gift for their engagement. The wolf asked all of the forest animals – the fox, the bear, the rabbit, and the coyote. They had all given him ideas for presents, which were nice in principle but wouldn’t do for his werewolf mate. Finally, the wolf asked the wise owl and he gave the best advice of all – to give his mate his heart.

It was a (“potentially gory story” as Stiles noted) touching, albeit clichéd, story, and Derek enjoyed listening to the sounds of Stiles’ breathing, of his voice, of his imagination running around, as he was obviously making this up on the spot. He found this had been the best waking up he could recall, even with the earlier fiasco with the board and the awful ringtone of his phone, just listening to Stiles ramble softly in his ear, making up stories especially for him.

“Now, Derek. Can you do me a favor?” Stiles asked after he had finished his story.

“Sure, Stiles.” Derek replied without missing a beat, feeling generous.

“Go and take a morning shower. Like, a long, relaxing shower to prepare you for a day. I’d say think of me, but I’m honestly afraid that’s gonna ruin the peaceful part, so just, you know, think of the woods or something? And by the time you’re done and dressed I’ll be finished with my stuff and will get to you, okay?”

“Sure.” Derek huffed a laugh, even after he’d tried to stop it. “Anything I should be dressing for?”

“A party, Derek. Always a party.” And with a high-pitched laugh, Stiles cut the call.

Derek stretched and crawled out of his bed and into his shower.

\---

The shower really had been relaxing for Derek, and while he was drying himself he started going back to his conversation with Stiles, thinking of his last sentence. What party? Was Stiles taking him to a party? Was Stiles organizing a party somewhere? Why, though? And, moreover, why would he take Derek to said party? Derek found himself torn between a black-and-green button-down and a dark grey cardigan he loved. He’d decided on jeans easy enough – the ones, which were comfortable to run in but also always made him feel as if he was drawing everyone’s stare to his butt.

Still naked from the waste up, he heard the door opening and Stiles’ voice yelling his name. He swore under his breath and picked up the button-down. Turning, he faced Stiles with it still open.

“Whoa, Derek, careful with the nakedness, this is not the forest!” Stiles exclaimed, laughing, but his eyes were trying and failing to stay away from Derek’s naked chest. He licked his lips minutely and then looked back at Derek’s eyes. “So we’re closing that door, to the bedroom, because it’s a mess here. I got the stuff ready in the living room – space thingy, and I think everyone should be here soon.”

“What? Who?”

“The pack, you know, Scott and Isaac and Allison – by the way, how weird is that thing with those three, huh – and Kira and Lydia, and maybe even Jackson, and Erica and Boyd.” Stiles explained, as if Derek didn’t know what ‘the pack’ entailed.

“But why?”

“Told you why – for the party.”

“No, you didn’t. You talked about do or die and then about a wolf’s mate” a blush spread on Stiles’ cheeks when that was mentioned “and then barely mentioned some sort of party. Why am I hosting a party?” Stiles stopped fidgeting then, completely froze, and looked up, eyes wide and shell-shocked.

“Um. You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.” Derek couldn’t help but be surprised at the lack of comment on his short speech; was it so shocking – did Derek forget he was hosting a party at his place?

“Um, Derek.” Stiles started, just as the pack started coming in, loud and obnoxious, through the door Stiles had left open. Derek looked around to see what else Stiles had changed and there was a--- there was a cake at the counter, dark-chocolate brown, and a bunch of cupcakes next to it.

There were unlit candles and some soft drinks around in cups, ready for the taking. Derek felt nauseous, all of a sudden. He looked back at Stiles, ignoring the rest of the pack, and he looked confused and so deeply _pained_ that Derek wanted to take back all his snarky comments from over the years.

It was his birthday.

“Happy birthday, Derek.” Stiles said over the collective chatter, before he started getting hugs and claps on his shoulder, and different wishes for his birthday. Everyone seemed oblivious that Derek had just remembered, thanks to Stiles moreover, that it was his birthday, chatting and laughing carelessly, calling for Derek to blow out the candles, eating and drinking and being so full of life.

Derek found himself having a lot of fun, laughing and kidding around with the others, throwing a ball Isaac had brought around the house. He got weird presents – a music CD from Allison from a band he had never heard of, a shiny and huge book on mythology from Jackson and Lydia, a hand-crafted toy of a fox from Kira, a DVD of a game he had nowhere to play from Scott; Boyd and Erica had made him a painting of the woods the two of them had painted themselves, and it was beautiful, really, but it pulled a string in his chest, reminding him of when they’d almost left, while he was still alpha.

Derek noticed Stiles was gone too late, after his Jeep was out of his parking space, without a word, after everyone was starting to head out. Derek wanted to apologize for not remembering, for being so weird and making Stiles look so… wrecked, as if he had forgotten his own birthday. He guessed Stiles’ present was the cake and the party and was thankful for the great day, before remembering the board Stiles had brought in the morning.

The board, which was wrapped in white paper and which Stiles insisted on not opening then.

Derek strode to where the board was and pulled his claws through the paper until a large chunk of the front of it fell off. The board was the same he’d seen in Stiles’ bedroom but at the same time, it was was changed to the point where it felt like the opposite of that ‘murder board’. The red yarn was gone, and so were the newspaper clippings. Instead, the board was full of pictures of the pack smiling and having fun, pictures of everyone, of Stiles and of Derek, of Stiles and Derek together. They were so much, Derek wondered when they had taken all of these, when so much time had passed between them. His fingers danced through the pictures, touching them lightly, while he unwrapped the whole board, freeing it of the paper. He remembered the story and looked at the pile of gifts from the pack. He looked back at the board, no longer confused.

He dialed Stiles’ number.

**Author's Note:**

> I had started writing this whole thing about board games, had more than 600 words written, when I understood I had no idea where that was headed. So I started over and this is the result.  
> I hope I start... starting with writing these things earlier from now on, because I've been writing them for four hours or so with the many MANY breaks and I can do better. 
> 
> So, any thoughts? How am I doing so far? Liked the fluffly nothingness? Talk to me in the comments! 
> 
> Next word iiiis breath. Let's see what comes out of it.


End file.
